Academy's Pervert in the D Class

Kiara's gaze sharpened, the playful glint fading as she studied him.

"Changed your mind?" Her tone shifted, concern creeping in where mischief had been, her eyes narrowing as she crossed the room in a few swift steps.

She sat beside him on the bed without hesitation, the mattress dipping under her weight, her scent—rose and iron, faint but unmistakable—wrapping around him like a familiar embrace.

Her thigh brushed his, the contact grounding yet electrifying, stirring the heat he always felt in her presence.

"What's wrong?" she asked softly, her voice stripped of its usual teasing edge, replaced by a quiet sincerity that caught him off guard.

He didn't answer, couldn't find the words.

Kiara's arms slid around him, pulling him into her warmth, her cheek pressing against his shoulder.

Her dark hair spilled across him like silk, soft and cool against his skin, and her breath was warm against his neck.

"You're dull tonight," she murmured, her voice gentle, almost tender. "Talk to me, Lor. Please."

Her body was strong, warm, familiar, her tone so genuine it made his chest ache.

He wanted to believe her, to sink into her embrace and let the questions dissolve.

Kiara's arms tightened around him, her warmth pressing closer.

Her lips brushed his neck in soft, fleeting sparks, each kiss a soft flicker of heat—once, gentle and tentative, then again, slower, her breath sliding across his skin like a caress.

Her hand crept to his chest, fingers tracing the lines of his shirt, mapping the contours of his body beneath with a quiet intensity, as if memorizing every dip and ridge.

"Lor…" she whispered, her voice dipping into a silken purr, low and intimate.

Her lips grazed his jaw, trembling with a tenderness that belied her usual fire, then pressed carefully against his mouth, the kiss soft but heavy with unspoken need.

Her hand slid lower, dragging across his stomach, fingers brushing the edge of his belt with a teasing promise.

He felt the shape of her kiss, the curve of her lips, the heat of her body pressed against his side.

But inside—nothing stirred.

His cock remained heavy, lifeless, a traitor to the desire he usually felt in her presence.

The absence was a cold weight in his gut, a void where heat should have been.

Lor flinched, his hand catching her arm, pushing it gently but firmly away. "Stop."

Kiara drew back, her icy-blue eyes blinking in surprise, the playful glint fading into a rare flicker of worry.

Her gaze darted down, then back to his face, searching.

"You're not… hard." The words came out flat, almost clinical, but the raw concern in her expression cut deeper, her brows knitting together as she studied him.

"What's wrong, Lor?" she asked again, her voice softer, almost pleading, a crack in her usual confidence that made his chest ache.

He swallowed, his throat tight, his eyes dropping to the floorboards, their worn grain blurring as he fought to find words.

His jaw clenched once, twice, before he spoke, his voice steady but heavy with the weight of what he'd learned.

"Kiara… do you want revenge on the High Mage who killed your mother?"

Silence crashed over them, thick and suffocating.

Her body stiffened beside him, her breath hitching audibly, a sharp intake that seemed to echo in the quiet room.

"What?" she whispered, her eyes widening, the icy blue darkening with a storm of emotions—shock, fear, grief.

"I know about what happened to her," Lor said, his voice steady despite the pounding in his chest, each word measured to keep from breaking. "Your mom. The fire. The pyre. All of it."

Her lips parted, trembling faintly, her hands clutching the edge of the mattress as if to anchor herself.

"Where… where did you hear that?" Her voice was barely a whisper, fragile in a way he'd never heard from her before.

He leaned closer, his eyes sharp, cutting through her defenses. "Is it true?"

The room's stillness was louder than any words, a heavy pause that stretched like a taut wire.

Her gaze flickered, searching his face, but finally, after what felt like an eternity, she nodded, a small, reluctant motion. "Yes."

Her voice cracked, raw and unguarded, but her eyes held his, fierce despite the pain.

"The High Mage… he exposed her. He's the reason she's dead. I hate him, Lor. Gods, I've hated him for as long as I can remember."

Her hands clenched into fists, nails digging into her palms, her voice trembling with a fury that seemed to burn the air around her.

Lor's chest tightened, a cold knot forming as he pressed further, his voice low but unyielding. "Are you angry enough to get strong just to kill him?"

Her gaze faltered, her lips parting as if to speak, but no words came.

For once, Kiara—his bold, unflinching Kiara—was silent, her icy-blue eyes darting away, unable to meet his.

Lor sighed through his nose, shaking his head faintly, the weight of his suspicions settling like lead in his stomach.

"I never asked you before why you wanted my lust energy so badly. Why you kept pushing me not to suppress it. Why you begged me to let it flow. But now…" His eyes narrowed, pinning her in place. "Now everything's clear."

Kiara's hands trembled, clutching at his sleeve, her fingers digging into the fabric as if she could hold onto him through sheer will.

"No, Lor. That's not all. I…" Her voice cracked, but she forced it out, fierce and desperate. "I genuinely like you."

The words hung between them, heavy and raw, and for a heartbeat, the silence burned.

Lor chuckled, a low, sad sound that didn't reach his eyes, his lips curving into a bitter smile. "Like me, huh?"

He stood, breaking her hold, his movements slow but deliberate as he crossed the room to his desk.

Kiara watched him, her lips trembling, her eyes wide and glistening but refusing to spill tears, her breath uneven as she sat frozen on the bed.